


Unravel Me

by blue like winter (bleucommelhiver)



Series: in the darkness of night [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Crowe being an instigator, F/M, Fluff, Galahd, Galahdan Culture & Traditions, Kingsglaive gang hanging out, Or best wing-woman ever, Pre-Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Wayward Children, Slow Burn, Some lore case Squenix screwed us a little bit on that, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 03:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleucommelhiver/pseuds/blue%20like%20winter
Summary: "C’mon, princess, that’s not fair. You know I can’t say no when you make that face.”“Pretty please with a kupo nut on top?”“Fine," he grits out. "But a few ground rules."Nyx finally brings you to the annual Galahdan festival that the glaives mysteriously refer to as the “Burning.” Being the good friend that she is, Crowe offers to dress you up for the festival, purposefully (though she’ll never admit it) digging up new and complicated feelings you and Nyx have long harbored for each other.





	Unravel Me

“Now that you're your own woman,” Crowe starts with a waggle of her eyebrows. “Think you can sneak away for the festival this year?”

You grin at your friend from across the table, ready to commit yourself to whatever debauchery she has planned when Nyx sidles onto the adjacent stool with two fistfuls of beers for the table. Downing your lukewarm beer, you reach out for a fresh one only for it to be snatched away by an unapologetic Tredd.

“Crowe,” Nyx intones disapprovingly despite the lopsided grin on his face. “She  _just_  turned eighteen.”

“You know what  _that_  means,” Tredd says salaciously as he jokingly, or perhaps not so jokingly, gives you the full look over — you could never tell with the redhead. He wore his conquests like a badge of honor, reporting into headquarters more often than not with a trail of love bites down his throat, and weirdly enough, once, on his cheek. (Libertus still hasn’t let him live down the night-of-the-living-vacuum-cleaner as he dubbed it, but Tredd effectively shut him down with a smug, “At least Tredd gets some.”) “Once eighteen, you’re fair ga—”

“Finish it, Furia. I dare you.”

“I’m more surprised you even have a moral compass to not cross that line,” Yama quips as he drops a platter of charcoal grilled meat and veggie skewers on the table. From the corner of your eye, you catch Libertus snatch a stick and then promptly place it back once he saw how burnt the underside was. Somethings just never changed. Unfortunately, Yama's cooking was one of them.

“ _Anyways_. Tredd’s disgusting proposition aside, now that you’re legal and essentially a full grown adult, don'tcha think you’re ready to leave the nest and live life to its fullest?” Crowe asks with a wink.

“Are we talking about the same festival that has the lot of you hungover and sporting headaches and bruises every Astral damned year? Cause if you are…count me in.”

Nyx rolls his eyes at a triumphant Crowe. “And you call me the bad influence?  _I’ve_  never tried to drag her to a booze-filled drug-induced weekend with nothing but scantily clad people and acts of  _sin_.”

Crowe rolls her eyes. “OK,  _daddy_.”

The table erupts in laughter as a tipsy and slightly disturbed Libertus grimaces. “I think I just puked in my mouth a little bit.”

“Drunk already, Libs? When’d you become such a lightweight?” The oft soft-spoken Pelna jibes from his corner of the table, throwing you a small smile. He’s known for a while now how much you longed for the freedom to explore the culture of your ancestors and it’s always confused him why Nyx shielded you so. King Regis’ reluctance he could understand, but Nyx…

You shift your gaze pleadingly towards Nyx, fixing the best pout you know how. The sudden flit of his eyes downwards to your lips is missed by no one but you. Crowe’s expression suddenly clears, interest piqued by the older glaive’s sudden change in demeanor. Nyx averts his eyes and swallows thickly, trying to swallow the lump stuck in his suddenly parched throat.

"I, uh…"

"C'mon, Nyx? Please?"

His blue eyes wash over you again and you feel your cheeks redden under his scrutiny. You hope to Astrals he'll think it's the alcohol affecting you so and not  _him_ , half annoyed at yourself for letting Nyx, of all people, fluster you, and half annoyed with Nyx for being so…flustering.

"C’mon, princess, that’s not fair. You know I can’t say no when you make that face.”

“Pretty please with a kupo nut on top?”

“Fine," he grits out. "But a few ground rules."

He pauses waiting for an objection but you're too ecstatic to protest.

"You're not going alone. We all go together."

"OK," you breathe out in barely contained excitement.

"No more than two drinks. No drinks from strangers," he adds sternly.

"OK," you nod. Drinking wasn't anywhere near the top of your priorities.

"You will dress presentably."

"OK."

"You can't wear the traditional garb where the top barely covers your…” Nyx gesticulates hands sillily at his pecs, searching for the right word. “…bits.”

Ignoring Tredd's indignant, " _Spoilsport!_ " you roll your eyes and answer, "Yes, OK, dadd—"

"I'm going to stop you right here," Libertus interrupts, looking once again nauseous.

Nyx stares at you skeptically, as if in disbelief that you agreed to his terms so easily. "I'll…pick you up at five?"

Crowe throws an arm around Nyx's shoulder. "Make it six at my place. There's no way she's going to her first  _Burning_  without getting appropriately glammed."

" _Burning_?!" you yelp.

"Yup. We're gonna have a helluva time."

There's a glint in Crowe's eyes that makes Nyx wary, but he knows she cares about your wellbeing enough not to go overboard.

Or at least he hopes so.

For his sake at least.

 

* * *

  

“Are you almost done?” you whine, tired of sitting statue still for the past two hours, arm and face covered in plant paste made from mignonettes native to Galahd called  _henna_.

Your nose itches and you terribly want to scratch it. Just. A. Teensy. Bit.

Crowe snaps before your finger even lifts from its resting place, “You wanna shut Nyx’s trap when he sees you or what?”

“Yeah,” you grumble, “but at what cost?”

“Just fifteen more minutes so the dye can properly set in your skin. I can't wait to see his snarky ass lost for words, for once.”

Staring uncertainly at your outfit, you try to tug your shirt down innocuously, feeling self-conscious in a flowy crop top that did nothing to cover your midriff, much less your shoulders. You turn your head to try to get a glimpse of the design Crowe had drawn at the juncture of your neck — an intricate chevron of lines and dots that disappeared a provocatively into the swell of your cleavage.

“It  _is_  pretty," you say while tracing the one that sits under your eye. "Do they mean anything?”

“Of course. You don’t really think Nyx and Libertus wear their markings out of vanity do you?” At your cocked eyebrow, she laughs. “Alright, maybe our resident hero would, but Libs?  _C’mon_. He doesn’t give a rats ass about his looks.”

You hum back in agreement as she motions you to close your eyes, a feather-light brush lining your eyes, bold and dramatic, far more daring than you’d ever worn.

“Ok, just about done,” she says as she gently wipes the dye from your cheekbone.

When you open your eyes you barely recognize the girl staring back at you. Your eyes look almost feline with the way Crowe has lined it. Scarlet shadow flecked with gold is dusted across your lids and even you can’t help but notice how the makeup brings attention to your eyes in a way you never noticed before. Gently, you touch the series of dots under the corner of your eye.  

“Wow,” you say breathlessly.

“Good. That’s the reaction I was going for. Now, let’s do your hair before Nyx bursts a vein.”

 

* * *

 

“Are we trying to make it to the festival  _today_  or are we going next year…” Nyx’s voice trails off as he peers into the tiny bathroom that's managed to contain both you, Crowe, and a cargo full of makeup no one expected Crowe to possess.

Crowe spins you in front of her so Nyx can get a full view. “You like?”

Nyx’s jaw twitches as his eyes trail up your form. The insecurity you felt before kicks in at full force. It’s been years since you’ve worn anything Galahdan…was it too much? The outfit, while beautiful, was much more daring than you’ve ever worn with its off-shoulder crop cut and its deceptively long skirt that bared your legs with each movement through the slit that traveled up your thighs.

A shiver runs down your back when Nyx's eyes finally meet yours.

The calm steel of his eyes that you’re so accustomed to are incensed and the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach churn in a way that makes your whole body tingle. It's a foreign feeling. But, somehow, not one that's unwelcome.

“Cat got your tongue?” Crowe teases.

Nyx clears his throat and pulls Crowe out of the bathroom. All you can hear from him is a hushed whisper, but Crowe responds loudly, uncaring for his need for privacy.

“You said dress presentably, and she is. Any more and she’d be burning up and maybe even  _shedding_  clothing once the dancing starts.”

Nyx must’ve mumbled something in protest, because Crowe laughs loudly and says, “I didn’t help her broadcast anything that was untrue. Just giving her the full Galahdan experience.”

Walking back to the doorway of the bathroom, Nyx doesn’t look your way when he says, “If you’re done, let’s go, princess.”

The hurt that wells up in your eyes as he turns away goes unnoticed (as does Crowe’s exasperated facepalm).

 

* * *

 

The short walk to his bike, parked right in front of Crowe’s apartment complex, is silent. You sneak a few cursory glances at Nyx to try to decipher his mood. His jaw is clenched and his gaze fixed firmly ahead. His apparent disapproval broadcasted loud and clear.

Despite this, you can’t help but notice how devastatingly handsome he is today, dressed in a traditional mandarin collared shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, bringing attention to the taut lines of his forearms with every step he takes. Aside from gold cuff that adorns his right ear, which you'd never admitbut looks distractingly good on him, Nyx looks as he normally does. With a sinking realization, it becomes apparent that the issue at hand was how overdressed you are.

“Nyx,” you call out in a small voice. He halts but doesn’t turn. “I’m sorry I overdid it. I…I just wanted to look like I belonged.”

Finally, he turns around, albeit reluctantly, and looks at you. “Don’t apologize, Princess.” His next words are followed by an uncharacteristic blush. “You look, uh…really pretty, so— so don’t apologize.”

“Really?” you question hesitatingly asyou try to quell that same annoying flutter you felt in your stomach moments before when his eyes bore holes into you.

Bringing a hand up to touch the rose-gold jewelry that rests atop your braids like a hanging crown, he sighs and lets out a soft, “Really,  _really_. It’s just— Crowe knows damn well what she was doing when she put those marks and braids on you and—” Nyx shuts up abruptly and turns to his bike. “And, uh…your skirt! She knew I was picking you up. How are you supposed to— I don’t want you flashing all of Lucis, _alright_?”

At his silly worrying, a grin splits across your face. “Don’t be such a dad, Nyx. It’ll be fine. It’s not like I’ve never ridden behind you on your bike.”

“ _Not_  in a  _skirt_!”

“I’ll be careful. Cross my heart. If anything,I’ll just sit a little closer so there’s less of a gap for—”

Nyx lets out a strangled noise at your suggestion because now all he can think about is you sitting pressed against him, legs around him with nothing separating your— your  _skin_  and his back but the single piece of whatever undergarment you were wearing underneath that skirt.

Clueless, you roll your eyes at his apprehension and you swing your leg over his bike, hitching the long material of your skirt indecently higher.

“C’mon, you got a better idea?”

 

* * *

 

It is almost dusk by the time you arrive. The ride took much longer than you expected, but with the initial exhilaration of weaving through the capital's congested roads and into the open plains of outer Insomnia, time seemed to fly. That is, until the subsequent realization that you could feel the dips and groves of Nyx’s abdominal muscles through the thin linen of his shirt with how tightly you were grasping himsettled upon you like a mist of cold water. With that newfound knowledge, you had begun to fidget, trying to safely put more distance between your bodies while traveling at 95mph.

Nyx's exasperated, "We're almost there. Just sit still," followed by a rough tug of your arm around his midsection, lurching you forward until your chest pressed flat against his back, was the only thing that had made you stop.

Resigned, you had restedyour cheek against his shoulder blade, inhaling the faint scent of salt and cedar that you've grown to know distinctly as Nyx. Burying your face deeper into the crook of his neck, you will your rebellious heart to settle down. Though the embrace felt intimate, more intimate than any you’ve shared with him from the way you could feel his body through the thin cloth of your clothing, you had to keep reminding yourself that it meant nothing. That and, _ew_ , it’s just big bro Nyx.  _Right_?

Right.

Or so you keep reminding yourself. Except…with the way he’s currently holding your hand (so you don’t get lost or separated, you tell yourself) and the way the sunset has painted the sky periwinkle and pink, you can’t help but get swept up in the moment. The grassy fieldsare lit by arcs of light suspended in midair and bustling booths of dozens of local vendors. In the middle of it all, is a barren knoll clear of everything except a bed of hay at the bottom of a wooden totem.

It’s breathtaking.

Something warm wells up in your chest when Nyx turns to you, letting go of your hand, and grins, “Welcome to  _Afritavti_. A celebration of fire and life, to the god  _Afrite_ , or as the Lucians like to call him, Ifrit.”

“It’s beautiful.” After a pause, you punch him on the arm. “Can’t believe you guys hid this from me all these years.”

“Ow,” he winces dramatically. “Look, this isn’t exactly a PG festival. When I said ‘celebration of life,’ I meant  _how_  life is created.”

“Huh?”

Putting on his best fatherly voice he says, “Now, when a man loves a woman very much…”

“ _Oh_. Ew. Ok, I get it.” 

“Yeah, Princess, it’s not exactly a run of the mill festival you bring kids to.” He ignores your grumble of, “ _Not a kid_ ,” and takes hold of your hand again. “Stay with me. Don’t want you to get caught up in some poor fools plans.”

“Uh, and why would that happen?” 

“Because,” he says as he palms your cheek, gently tracing the markings under your eye with his thumb. You can feel his breath dance upon your lips, an unspoken invitation that makes you part yours in response.

 _Because what?_  

His voice is huskier than usual when he says, “Because even a poor fool can see…”

Unconsciously, you lean closer, but before the moment has the opportunity to develop into anything more, a passerby knocks you into his arms.

Nyx lets out a shaky laugh of relief at the interruption. “Let’s go find the others.”

 

* * *

 

Gods he needs to get a hold of himself. Like, really needs to get a hold of himself. It’s embarrassing really, the way he’s tripping over himself like a green boy. He’s known you for  _years_. Knows your little tics and flaws, the way you bite your lip in concentration and the way your face scrunches up uglily ( _cutely_ , the annoying voice in his head corrects) before you cry.

Then why…why is he feeling like…why is he feeling like he needs to walk on eggshells around you all of a sudden?

Well. OK. He  _knows_  why.

The image of you dancing at the bar the night of your birthday, uninhibited and free, flashes through his mind. The way your hips swayed to the thrum of the bass and mainly…that coy smile that formed on your scarlet lips when he caught your eye as if saying ‘come here’ or…

He stops his thoughts. No. He’s being crazy. He’s a hundred percent certain you didn’t even know  _what_  kind of look you had on your face with the number of drinks you had shoved at you that night.

But it doesn’t help that every time he looks at you now, Nyx finds he needs to remind himself of who you are. The Princess. His little sister. Ok, not _really_  his little sister, but his little sister like Crowe is his little sister. Right?

 _Right_.

Except, he sure as hell knows he’s never had these convoluted thoughts about Crowe and he’s seen her in outfits far more scandalous than what you’re currently wearing.  _Not_ , that you’re even dressed all that provocatively. If anything, you’re dressed conservatively for a girl attending the festival Tredd excitedly dubs, “Ass ‘n Tits Fest.”

But seeing you with your hair braided and in the clothing of your people, it does something to him and Nyx doesn’t quite trust himself to spend any more time alone with you. For gods sakes, he thinks he almost  _kissed_  you. 

_Fuck, you’re a fucking mess, Ulric._

* * *

 

You find the gang at the edge of the festivities, with a van and tent set up. Libertus has a grill going and is proudly donning on the role of grill-master, cooking up a storm as a reluctant Crowe helps. Luche and Pelna are sitting on the grass enjoying a few beers with Tredd, who unsurprisingly, already has a busty brunette draped over him. How he does it, you honestly have no idea. As fun as Tredd is, he’s the last person on Eos you’d ever be caught with, especially with that disgustingly cocky attitude of his. But, maybe that was…part…of…his charm?

“Finally!” Crowe exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “You guys should’ve gotten here half an hour ago. Did you guys take the long way or something?”

To your surprise, Nyx’s face is flushed when he says, “Just traffic.”

“Libs, your sous chef is here. I’m out.” Crowe hooks her arm through yours. “Time for us girls to have some fun!”

As you walk off with Crowe, you hear Nyx shout, “Oi! Not  _too_  much fun you hear?!”

“Aye, aye, Captain Dad!”

 

* * *

  

The festival is beyond your wildest dreams. Men and women alike are dressed in their best —bangles and jewelry clinking musically about as they bustle through the tents. Those more daring wore outfits that left little to the imagination; a strategically placed strip of cloth across breasts, a triangle of fabric to cover the important ‘bits’. Some even walked about bare-chested with nothing but ceremonial body paint to obscure their nudity. No wonder Nyx had made a fuss about dressing ‘presentably.’

The next hour is a whirlwind of lights, laughter, and drinks. By the time you and Crowe finished making a complete round of the stalls, you are both covered in trinkets and jewelry, most of them gifts from unsuspecting suitors. Crowe has a way about her that makes men and women alike spellbound and eager to please. Tonight is no different.

There are times when you catch yourself wishing you had a fraction of her charm and daring. Perhaps then, you’d…

“Yunno, I’m a little offended,” Crowe says over a swig of cider. “I know that look.”

“What?”

“You’re wishing Nyx was here with us instead of back at camp with the boys aren’t you?”

Staring down at your sandaled feet, you answer, “That obvious, huh?”

Crowe puts her arm around you. “He has a way with girls. Always has.”

You groan into your hands. “This is so stupid. It’s probably just some silly crush, kind of like when—”

“The Prince?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “You think I’d have learned my lesson by now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing. Don’t worry, I’ll kick his ass if he does anything stupid, but hon, he loves you. You know that. He would never—” 

“—see me as anything other than a sister,” you say with finality.

Crowe gnaws on her lips, trying to pick her next words carefully when the loud boom of fireworks draws her attention to the sky.

“C’mon, let’s head back. The ceremony’s about to start.”

 

* * *

  

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Nyx’s voice startles you from your reverie. 

It is. After the initial fireworks, the priests came out with their drums and the grounds came alive with dancers and performers alike. Some swinging balls of fire to the beat of the drums and others twirling torches, a flurry of sparks and fire.

Nyx settles down next to you, close enough that you’re touching shoulder to shoulder. You’ve had a bit to drink with dinner at this point, his two drink rule long forgotten, even by himself, so you let yourself indulge in his warmth, resting your head against him.

“You cold?”

“Mmm,” you hum, too comfortable and tipsy to expend energy on words.

Taking it as affirmation, Nyx brings his arms around you, enveloping your bare shoulders with his broad chest. You sink in willingly, not sober enough to care whether or not this would be considered weird. He smelled nice. Like firewood and whiskey.

“You smell nice too,” he chuckles.

Crap, did you say that out loud? Sinking deeper into his embrace you pretend not to have heard him.

Nyx didn’t seem to mind because he continued talking as if nothing happened. “Do you know why we celebrate Ifrit while the Lucians condemn him?”

You shake your head. The bedtime stories your mother told you long before of Shiva and Ifrit seemed like a fuzzy picture with no lines.

“At the start of it all, Eos was cold and barren. Shiva had little regard for humanity so she let her winter go where it pleased her. But us humans, you know how we are. We persevered, we innovated and we continued. Ifrit admired that, it warmed him to see us tiny creatures live our hopes and dreams despite the world so full of darkness and ice, so he bestowed us with fire and light. His compassion, in turn, melted the Ice Goddess’ heart.”

You nod along. This was the same story you and Noct were taught growing up.

“But humans are greedy. We took his fire and abused it. In our hubris we built and built and built until Eos was more metal and stone than earth; burned what we could so humanity could shine a little brighter. So bright that Eos suffered for it and the winter days became shorter and shorter — and Shiva along with it weaker and weaker. Unable to watch his beloved grow weak while he flourished, Ifrit sought to reverse the damages the humans wrought, smiting and destroying what he could of their civilization to stop the destruction of Eos herself.

I know the Lucians like to paint him as some sort of deviant who betrayed humanity, but the truth is we were the ones who took his gift and twisted it. ‘Suppose it lets them sleep better at night, seeing how much they worship the almighty lizard.”

“You mean Bahamut?!”

“That’s the one. But, yeah. I get it. I would watch the world burn too than to let it hurt the ones I love.”

The small waver in his voice sobers you. You turn to look up at him, so you could find the words to comfort him, but tempestuous fervor in his gaze has your heart thudding in tandem with the two-step beat of the drumming priests. As Nyx tucks a loose braid behind your ear, smiling forlornly, you hope that the drums were loud enough to disguise the thrumming in your chest. 

“That means you,” he says as he presses a kiss upon your temple like he always does.

You swat him away. “Don’t say things like that, Nyx.”

Laughter returns to his eyes and the solemnity of the moment washes away. “I’ll say what I want, twerp.”

He leans down to place another kiss upon your temple, but in your struggle to get away from his royal-pain-in-the-ass-ness, the kiss lands on the naked juncture of your neck. Your eyes flutter close at the sensation. You feel your body burning up, the heat of it completely unrelated to the giant bonfire in the center of it all. Must be the firewhiskey.

Nyx’s lips are pressed upon your pulse point for only a brief second, but it feels so much like eternity to that when he whispers his apology you feel, rather than hear it from the tips of your toes to the crown of your ear.

Sheepishly, Nyx gets up and extends his hand to you.

“S’time for the dance. C’mere, I’ll teach you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead. Wayward Children will be continued, I promise. Thank you all for being so patient with me!
> 
> Written (very quickly) for @nyxulricweek on tumblr. There's so much more I wanted to explore but left out due to time constraints. I may add an additional chapter in the future to include everything I originally planned (dance with Nyx, meaning behind the marks/tattoos, braids, etc.). I hope you enjoy anyways!


End file.
